


Blossoms Of Love

by watanuki_sama



Series: Shards Of Quantum Glass [19]
Category: Common Law (TV)
Genre: Allergies, Florist AU, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23745754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: Wes has never been allergic to flora a day in his life. Then he walks by the flower shop and sneezes.
Relationships: Travis Marks/Wes Mitchell
Series: Shards Of Quantum Glass [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/945501
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63





	Blossoms Of Love

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't post last month because everything lately has been A Lot. I hope you guys enjoy this cute little ficlet.
> 
> Also posted on FF.net on 04/19/20 under the penname 'EFAW'.
> 
> PROMPT: Florist

_“Life is nothing but an opportunity for love to blossom.”_   
_—Osho_

\---

The flower shop is called Blossoms Of Love, which is perfectly ridiculous. Wes barely gives it more than a passing glance on his way to work.

Every morning, the florist, Travis, sets up the sidewalk displays. He’s got a big smile and friendly charm and everyone in the neighborhood loves him. Wes gives him as much of a passing glance as he gives the shop itself.

It’s just a flower shop with a stupid name. It has no bearing on his life. Wes doesn’t think about it much.

\---

It starts with a sneeze.

Every morning, Wes walks by the shop. Every morning Travis is out front, wrestling the displays into place. And every morning without fail, he looks up as Wes passes and chirps, “Good morning!” with that bright, brilliant smile on his face.

Most mornings, Wes merely grunts and continues walking. Occasionally he’ll acknowledge Travis’s greeting with a small, brusque nod.

Today, though, it wells out of him, a sneeze so explosive it momentarily stops him in his tracks.

“Bless you,” Travis says brightly, and heads inside.

Wes sneezes again.

\---

For three days, Wes sneezes in front of the flower shop—but _only_ in front of the flower shop. On the fourth day, he changes his route to work, which eliminates the sneezing problem but adds fifteen minutes to his walk, so it’s not really an even compromise.

He is, he decides, allergic to something at the flower shop. Which seems odd, because he’s never been allergic to flora a day in his life, but according to the internet it’s possible to _develop_ an allergy.

He should ignore it. It doesn’t affect his life for more than a couple of minutes every day. But then he catches himself avoiding the decorative bouquets in the lobby at work, because he doesn’t know if _those_ are the flowers he’s allergic to, and that’s…

That’s really kind of annoying, actually.

He devises a plan to figure it out.

\---

The moment Wes steps into the shop, he sneezes. Travis’s, “Bless you,” is automatic, said before he’s fully looked up from the counter. Then he spots Wes, and his face lights up with recognition. “Oh! Hi! You here for some flowers?”

Wes looks pointedly around the shop. “No,” he says dryly, “I’m here for groceries.”

Travis chuckles, coming around the corner. “Yeah, okay, I guess I deserved that. What can I getcha?”

Wes sneezes again.

“Bless you.”

“Daffodils,” Wes grits out, holding his breath like that might help. “Small bouquet of daffodils.”

“Coming right up.” Travis moves quickly and efficiently, hands certain and sure, and in just a few minutes he’s got a handful of daffodils bundled up.

Wes sneezes twice as he’s paying, and then one more time when Travis holds out the bouquet. He makes a mental note to bring tissues next time, because he’s about three seconds away from being forced to choose between having snot run down his face or wiping his nose on his sleeve.

As he leaves with the bouquet tucked under his arm, Travis calls out, “See you on Monday!”

Wes pauses long enough to wave over his shoulder, then bolts out the door before the next sneeze explodes out of him.

\---

It’s not the daffodils. After the first few hours, Wes stops sneezing entirely. Just to be certain, he keeps the bouquet in a plastic vase on his table for a full week.

It doesn’t make a difference. Every morning he walks by the florist and can’t stop sneezing, and every night he comes home and he doesn’t even feel a tickle in his nose. It’s not the daffodils.

On Thursday night he tosses the daffodils out. Then he crosses out the first line on the list he’d made up.

Next up: marigolds.

\---

“Hot date?” Travis asks, after Wes sneezes his way inside the flower shop.

Wes blinks dumbly at him, one finger pointing at the marigolds. “What?”

Travis is already moving, plucking marigolds up and bustling to wrap them. (Wes hides a sneeze in his sleeve—he forgot the damn tissues.) “Got a hot date? That why you need the flowers?”

Wes stares at him. “That’s…really none of your business.”

“Hey, man,” Travis chuckles, “just making conversation.”

“Well, do—” Wes’s retort is cut off by a massive sneeze, large enough Travis leans back a little even though he’s all the way behind the counter.

“Do make pleasant conversation when you come in for flowers?” Travis chirps cheerfully, wrapping the bouquet in plastic and moving to the register. “I can totally do that!”

Wes blinks irritated eyes and scowls at the florist. “That’s not what I said.”

“No,” Travis agrees with a grin. “What you said was aagaghfrf!” And he makes the most unpleasant elephant-like noise Wes has ever heard.

Wes blushes, hard. “I do _not_ sound like that.”

“You really, really do.” Travis beams at him, eyes dancing, and holds out the bouquet “But it’s alright, I know what you meant.”

Still blushing furiously, Wes snatches the bouquet and storms out, not bothering to respond to Travis’s cheerful, “Have a nice weekend!”

\---

It’s not the marigolds, either. Wes sighs and crosses them off the list.

\---

“Not just a hot date, but a date _night_ , huh.” Travis sighs dreamily, bundling up Wes’s lilies. “I haven’t had a steady date night in…well, ever.”

Wes, who came prepared today, sniffles into his wad of tissues. “Shut up.”

“Naw, man, I think it’s romantic!” Travis has a tendency to wave his hands when he’s talking. “Every Friday you’re in here, buying flowers. It’s sweet. The only other people who buy flowers this regularly are buying ‘em for graves.” He pauses in horror, hands frozen midair. “You’re not buying these for a grave, are you?”

For half a second, Wes is tempted to say yes, just to fuck with the man. Instead, he glowers over his tissues and says, “No. Shut up.”

“Oh, _whew_.” And Travis is moving again, hands and mouth starting up together and definitely not shutting up. “Because _that_ would have been awkward.”

Rolling his eyes, Wes takes the flowers and turns to leave.

“Have a good night!” Travis calls, and Wes sneezes before he can answer.

\---

As he strikes a line through the lilies, Wes looks over his list and sighs.

“This is going to take forever.”

\---

“You must really like her, huh?”

Wes stabs a finger at a bundle of carnations and sniffles. “Who?”

Travis obediently begins making his bouquet. “The girl you’re buying the flowers for. I mean, if you’re willing to suffer an allergic reaction every week just to get her something pretty, you must _really_ like her.”

“There’s—” Wes sneezes twice, in quick succession. “—no girl.”

“Oh.” Travis’s hands slow. Then, carefully, “Guy?”

“No?” Another sneeze—goddamn these fucking flowers. “No guy. No girl. No date night.”

“So you’re just some poor lonely bastard buying flowers for himself?” Travis asks. He sounds way too happy about the prospect.

The death glare Wes aims at Travis would probably be a lot more effective if it wasn’t being transmitted by red, watery eyes. “Give me my damn flowers,” he snaps, grabbing the bouquet and storming out.

He can hear Travis calling, “Aw, man, I didn’t mean it like that!” but Wes ignores him.

\---

The carnations, like all the other flowers, are a bust. Wes groans, rubbing his temples, and glares balefully at the drooping flowers on his table.

This isn’t such a big deal. Other people deal with allergies all the time. Does it really matter what kind of flower he’s allergic to?

“What am I even doing?” he questions, but he doesn’t have an answer for himself.

\---

He’s annoyed enough by the ‘poor lonely bastard’ comment that he takes the long way to work all week. The extra fifteen minutes is worth not seeing Travis’s face for a few days.

But come Friday evening, rather than go to any other florist, Wes steps inside Blossoms Of Love. 

Travis is bent over the counter, his chin in his hand, idly doodling on a scrap of an order form. He looks _dejected_ , and it’s such a strange turn compared to his usual attitude that Wes pauses in the doorway to take it in.

Then, of course, he sneezes.

Travis’s head snaps up so fast it looks like it hurts, and—Wes doesn’t know if anyone has ever looked so pleased to see him, ever.

“Hi!” Travis calls enthusiastically, almost tripping over his feet in his rush to get up. “Hi! I didn’t—you weren’t—I’m glad you came.”

He is still mad, Wes reminds himself, and he is not so easily swayed by a pretty face smiling at him, no matter how relieved Travis looks to see him.

He crosses his arms and does his best to look annoyed and unimpressed. “I want another florist.”

“Sorry, man.” Travis waves a hand around the store, empty aside from themselves. “Just me.”

Wes purses his lips, bites back another sneeze, and turns to the door.

“Wait! Wait wait!” Travis scurries in front of him, hands held out in supplication. “I’m sorry, okay? I totally didn’t mean what I said, not the way it came out.” He shuffles uneasily under Wes’s red-eyed glower, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just teasing.”

That just makes Wes tenser. He crosses his arms and turns his glower up to eleven. Allergies or no, it’s certainly making Travis look nervous. “I don’t like being made fun of.”

“Which is totally fair.” Travis ducks his head, looking up through his lashes, and gives him a butter-won’t-melt smile. “Let me make it up to you? Over coffee or something?”

Wes sees red. “You— _bastard_ —”

“Not a joke!” Travis hastily ducks out of range, but he stays between Wes and the door, cutting off his escape. “Not a joke, I swear! I really am interested!” He grins sheepishly. “Why do you think I was so pleased you weren’t buying flowers for someone else?”

Wes takes a small step back, thrown for a loop. “Really? Even with all—” He waves a hand at his face, encompassing both his attitude and his puffy, red eyes and nose.

“Yeah.” Travis relaxes a little, smiling at him. “You’re hot. Even with all…” He wiggles his fingers at Wes’s face.

“Oh.” Mollified, and a little flattered, Wes drops his arms. “Okay, then.”

“Yeah?” Still smiling, looking a little more hopeful, Travis drops his hands to his sides. “Okay. So, you, uh…you want your flowers?”

“Tulips.” Wes sniffles, pulling out his tissues. “Please.”

“Coming right up.” A bounce in his step, Travis moves across the shop, gathering up Wes’s tulips and bundling them in plastic. Wes follows at a more sedate pace to the counter, wiping his face and trying to look cooler than he feels. It’d be a lot easier if he wasn’t sneezing every other step.

“You really want to get coffee?” he asks, less casually than he was aiming for.

Travis looks at him, amusement lining his smile. “I really do. If you’re interested, of course.”

Wes _hasn’t_ been interested, not really, but he doesn’t find himself entirely convinced it’s a bad idea. Besides, it’s been a while since someone’s been interested in _him_ …

What’s the harm in going out for coffee?

“Here you go.” Travis passes the tulips over, fingers purposely brushing Wes’s, sending tingles up his arm.

The moment is, of course, ruined when Wes chokes on another sneeze, but Travis just laughs brightly and rings him up.

“Do you work tomorrow?” Wes asks, handing over the bills.

“In the morning,” Travis tells him. “The boss is pretty nice about giving me most of the weekend off. The boss being me, of course,” he adds with a wink.

“There a coffee shop down the street,” Wes blurts. “Mocha Express.”

Travis pauses, Wes’s change in hand. “I’m off at noon,” he offers hesitantly, like he’s not sure if Wes is the one teasing him now.

Wes shifts from foot to foot, clutching the tulips protectively. “So, like…twelve-fifteen or so?”

“Um.” Travis blinks, stunned but happy, like he can’t quite believe this is really happening. “Yeah. That’s be fine. That’d be great, actually.”

“Okay. See you then.” Before he can burst from the awkward, giddy embarrassment, Wes bolts.

He forgets his change, but he doesn’t even notice until he’s at home, putting the tulips in the vase on his table.

\---

Mocha Express is, not so surprisingly, extremely busy at noon on a Saturday, because it’s lunchtime and people have nothing better to do. Wes buys a coffee and finds a table in the corner, barely sliding in before a teenage couple. They both give him annoyed looks and flounce off; Wes plants himself there, glaring at anyone else that ventures too close.

At twelve-twenty-three Travis talks through the front door, scanning the crowd. He lights up when he sees Wes, pushing through the throng to get to the table. He collapses in the opposite chair, grinning slyly at him.

“Hi.”

Wes ducks his head. “Hi.”

“So it occurs to me that not all of us wear nametags,” Travis says, resting his chin on his hand. “And you always pay cash. So I don’t actually know your name.”

Right. That hadn’t occurred to him. “Wes Mitchell,” he says, holding his hand across the table.

Travis slides their hands together, and the moment slows, shrinks, until the crowd falls away and it’s just the two of them, trapped in a bubble of possibility.

Wes feels a tickle in his throat and nose, and he yanks his hand away, shattering the moment. He grabs a handful of napkins and sneezes, once, twice, three times, huge sneezes that make his ears ring.

Travis rears back, stricken. “Oh man, I came right here from work, I didn’t even _think_. I’m sorry.”

“Not your—fault,” Wes mumbles through his napkins. “Should have realized—” Another sneeze rips out of him, and someone from the next table glances over.

Travis runs his hand through his hair. “Look, what say we try again tomorrow? I don’t work, so I can shower and be completely pollen-free.”

Wes’s protest is cut short by yet another sneeze that leaves his eyes watering. “Yeah, okay.” he sniffles through suddenly-congested sinuses. “Same time?”

“Definitely.” Travis squeezes his hand. “It’s a date.”

_Date_. Wes like that.

\---

He stops sneezing as soon as he gets home and showers. He idly pokes the tulips on his table, grinning foolishly. “Not you,” he murmurs, which leaves dozens of other flowers he could be allergic to, but somehow, that doesn’t bother him at all anymore.

He has a _date_ tomorrow.

\---

The coffeeshop is even more crowded on Sunday than it is on Saturday, so Wes decides to wait on the sidewalk. They can always go somewhere else.

“Wes!” Right on time today, Travis trots up, alluring in blue jeans and a leather jacket. Wes rises to greet him, and Travis steps close to get out of the pedestrian traffic, and suddenly they’re _close_ , close enough to kiss. Which shouldn’t be something Wes is thinking about on a first date, but he _is_ and going by the look in his eye Travis is thinking the same thing.

Wordless, Travis leans in, and Wes goes to meet him—

Wes sneezes in Travis’s face.

“Ugh!” Travis leaps back, wiping his face. “Wes! That’s disgusting!”

“Sorry!” Wes scrambles for his tissues—which he didn’t bring because this was a _date_ and Travis was going to shower all the pollen away. “Did you go to the flower shop?” he demands, sneezing into his elbow.

“No! I haven’t been anywhere near there!” Travis backs another couple of steps out of the spray zone as Wes continues sneezing. “And I took a shower last night _and_ this morning. There is _no_ pollen on me!”

“Well, I’m not allergic to _you!”_

This is the worst attack yet. Wes is sneezing so hard he can’t barely get a word in edgewise, so it takes a few minutes to notice Travis has gone quiet and thoughtful.

“Wes,” Travis says, “what can you smell?”

Wes glares at him, sneezes, and wipes his streaking eyes, glaring some more.

“Right. Sorry, stupid question.” Travis backs up another half-step, and in other circumstances Wes might be kind of offended but right now he totally understands.

“Hey Wes.” Travis rocks on his heels, deliberately casual. “If I figure out what you’re allergic to, can I take you out to dinner?”

Wes glares at him, sniffing miserably. “You know what it is?” he asks, or tries to.

Travis understands his meaning. “I have a theory,” he says, “But I can’t prove it yet. So. If I figure it out, we do dinner?”

All Wes can do is nod breathlessly. Travis grins, clasps his hands behind his back, and looks like a pleased kid when he says, “See you tomorrow, Wes.”

And really, Wes should be annoyed that the date got cancelled and Travis is being all mysterious, but he stops sneezing just a little while after Travis leaves, so he can’t complain too much. It wouldn’t have been a very good date like this anyway.

\---

Monday morning comes, and Wes debates taking the long way to work. Travis can’t be very happy to be jilted twice by Wes’s stupid allergic reaction, and there’s no way he figured out which damn flower Wes is allergic to in a shop full of flowers.

Then again, Travis seemed confident he could guess the problem, and he still wants to take Wes out to dinner, so Wes takes a breath, steels his nerve, and heads to work.

Travis, like usual, is setting up the sidewalk displays as Wes passes. He brightens when he spots Wes, abandoning the displays to bounce up in front of Wes. “Hey, Wes.”

Wes pauses, having given himself enough time this morning to stop and chat a little. “Morning, Travis.” Wes can’t keep the smile off his face, and god, this is embarrassing. He feels like everyone passing by can tell he’s got flutters in his stomach and tingles running down his spine.

Travis is still grinning, vibrating with excitement. Wes blinks. “What?”

“How do you feel?”

“Feel?” Like a teenage girl who just found out her crush likes her back. He is _not_ going to say that. “I feel fine.”

Then he pauses, taking stock. “I feel _fine.”_ Not even a tickle in his nose indicating an oncoming sneeze. He looks at Travis wide-eyed. “You figured it out?”

“Pretty sure I did.” Radiating smug triumph, Travis rocks on his heels. “Does this mean you’ll have dinner with me? Say, Thursday night?”

Wes relishes the feeling of not sneezing his head off. “Yeah, fine, Thursday’s—can I kiss you?” He didn’t get to yesterday, and now that he can it is suddenly _all_ he wants to do.

“Abso _lute_ ly.” Travis breaths, and they crash together and it’s _wonderful_ , Wes doesn’t even _care_ that they’re in the middle of the sidewalk. They should kiss more often.

“Wait, wait.” He pulls back abruptly, frowning. “Which flowers did you remove?”

Travis licks his lips roguishly, and shrugs. “None.”

“What?” Wes’s frowns deepens. “But then…what was I allergic to?”

Travis just smirks, leaning in for another kiss, and whispers, “My new cologne.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wes as a florist seemed a little too cliché, so I gave the shop to Travis. Then, the fact that Travis has a courting cologne distinct enough from his regular cologne for Wes to notice the difference just kind of made me laugh. Combine those together and boom, this cute little story.


End file.
